(Editor’s note: This is the last outdoor column written by Roger Sager before his death on June 14. His children, Eric Sager and Suzi Marasco, transcribed the article into a computer from the hand-written article their dad composed in his recliner.)
We all love to hear stories from the woods.
The telling and re-telling of our hunting adventures, whether the result was a trophy animal or an interesting day outside, we want to hear the details.
I found long ago that lots of folks, including non-hunters, are often interested in our tales. I remember the mother of a hunting buddy who would give our stories her full attention whenever we recalled the events of the day.
She didn’t care much about hunting, but she always mentioned how she loved hearing the description of the woods and animals during our hunts. I guess I never thought much about it, but describing how a buck sounded as he walked through the dry leaves, finally coming into view while a red squirrel chattered like crazy may be interesting to a city resident who had never spent a day in the woods.
It seems to always be important to “set the stage” for our stories, usually including the weather conditions, prominent features such as the ground being covered with fallen acorns, or drizzling rain; maybe a big cluster of hemlocks where turkeys had taken shelter – you get the idea.
The details are important, as long as we don’t get too poetic with our descriptive phrases. Being able to relive our experiences and share our memories with friends is an important part of our hunting traditions.
I remember being a kid and listening to my dad, uncle and other adults tell their stories, usually about deer hunting.
After being out most of the day hunting, Dad would come into our basement, take off his boots and remove his heavy, red-plaid coat and pants, hanging them up to dry.
Before he could even properly sit down and relax, I would be pestering him with questions, such as, “What did you see? How many deer were in that spot near the creek? How far was that buck when you spotted him in the weed brush?”
My questions were answered patiently as the story of the hunt unfolded.
Gradually, as I was invited to tag along on a few Saturday hunts, I began to recognize some of the areas described in the hunting stories that were part of my young imagination. Landmarks mentioned as reference points in the hunting stories were now seen for real and it made me feel like I was starting to understand a bit of some of the favorite spots I’d heard about: the corduroy road, the horse trough, the old apple orchard, big pines, and many more.
It became obvious that part of a young hunter’s education was learning various landmarks, either to navigate into the woods and back again,or to arrange a meeting for lunch with your buddies.
So, it wasn’t long until plans could be made that were something like, “I’ll start the morning at my stand in the beech grove, then I’ll hunt along the creek to the tree growing out of the rock and I’ll look for you there about 11 o’clock to compare notes.”
As our hunting experiences expanded to include new areas, maybe in other states (or countries), our list of landmarks increased dramatically. In addition to the practical aspect of navigating through the woods, these landmarks provide much more to our hunting experiences. Places took on special meaning when they trigger memories of moments that will stay with us for decades to come.
Of course, not all these landmarks remind me of hunting success.
I’ll never forget the spot on the side hill in some big rocks and hemlock trees where my dad missed a nice buck. As he was taking aim at the deer, an unseen turkey burst out of the top of a hemlock and startled both the deer and the hunter.
Dad said he must have jumped three feet straight up, the buck spun around so fast to get out of there that he lost his footing, sliding in the mud. The deer seemed to have had all four feet spinning in the mud at once as Dad was trying to find the buck in his scope. He finally got a shot, and missed.
In the same valley, I would have no problem, after all these years, to point out the spot where I shot my first buck.
The big hemlock that I stood under is still there, although it was uprooted some time ago in a nasty windstorm. It is one of my landmarks, even though its presence is now marked by its huge root ball pulled up and the tree trunk laying mostly on the ground.
When you introduce a new hunter to your hunting spots, half of the fun is pointing
out and explaining the significance of your landmarks.
Names such as grouse road, hole in the wall, the windmill, little swamp, and fairy-tale tree all need to be pointed out, and their history preserved.
